


The Man In My Car

by Summertime_Poet



Series: Wilburys fanfics [1]
Category: Bob Dylan (Musician), The Beatles (Band), Traveling Wilburys
Genre: Fluff, M/M, fluff with feels and what the author hopes are funny lines but mostly fluff, it's like, pure fluff, the dawning realisation that slowly hits them both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 08:29:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16036733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summertime_Poet/pseuds/Summertime_Poet
Summary: Bob comes from the last concert of his tour to unexpectedly find someone sitting in his car.





	The Man In My Car

**Author's Note:**

> A [Good, Calm Song](www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JBHyE18L3o) to listen to while reading this, if you feel so inclined. Also the short story of how this fic came to happen at the end.  
> This was my first attempt at writing Dylarrison and Bob in particular. Thank you ever so much [Aldrig](www.archiveofourown.org/users/Aldrig/pseuds/Aldrig) for all the encouragement yesterday, and for generally telling me to give writing them a try.  
> Hope you guys enjoy it! <3

Bob decided to head straight home after the concert- he was incredibly worn out, and while the crowd had been one of the nicer ones that had barely booed at him... He was exhausted. Having just finished a tour, all he wanted to do was go home, and he had nodded his goodbyes to his tour band and crew rather quickly, not being one to linger. He knew they knew he appreciated them even if he didn’t show it as overtly as some other musicians might do, so he doubted there was much else he could have done. Maybe invited the band out for a drink, but that could wait until tomorrow. He knew how to reach them, after all, and made a mental note to do so after a good night’s sleep.

Lost in thought, he reached his car and got his keys out of his pocket. He had just stuck the car key into the keyhole when a shadow moving on the backseat caught his eye and made him flinch. He took a step back, ready to fight if necessary – he might be small but he sure as hell was already annoyed at someone having broken into his car – when he looked at the backseat more properly and saw...

_George Harrison? Waving at him???_

“What the ever-loving heck, George.” He realized that there was still a closed door between them, and George was now looking at him with confusion. Bob took the keys again and opened the car’s back door instead, and repeated his question. “What the ever-loving heck, George.”

He didn’t get a verbal explanation, though, because instead of giving him one, George stood up and got out of the car. Some flowers that he had been keeping on his lap nearly fell down but he caught them at the last second and carefully placed them on the back seat. And then Bob already found himself pulled into a hug and George talking into his hair about how he had missed him and “It’s been a year since we’ve last seen each other, this visit was long overdue, Bob!” Bob vaguely remembered giving George a copy of his keys at some point, while nodding at George’s reasoning.

And thus Bob found himself driving home alongside his long-time friend, not in quiet silence but with George humming along to the radio that he had turned on a few minutes into the drive. For some reason he was much more relaxed than directly after the concert already, and he quietly thanked whatever deities might be listening right then for George being there, unexpected as his appearance was.

The second they arrived at Bob’s house, George hurried to get to the house, which Bob only considered with a raised eyebrow and a low chuckle. George was behaving very much... like George. He followed his friend, who had already pulled out his own key ring of “Bob keys” and unlocked the front door as though he had done so countless of times before. He definitely had done so in the past. Bob heard the “click” of the door and George stepped back and pointed for Bob to go inside first. Bob was starting to wonder what was going on, but before he could come up with a proper theory, the smell from inside the house was engulfing him. It smelled _good_. Bob stopped dead in his tracks and took another deep breath. Deep down he was smiling so tenderly he was sure it might shock George were he to see the smile on his face instead, and a quiet voice inside his head told him “I guess this is how it’s gonna be then”. It wasn’t a loud voice, but something inside his heart had been unlocked at this moment, and he would need to take a moment aside to give thought to it later. For now, all he did was ask “So, you’ve been here before already” and turn around with a small smile dancing around his lips. George smiled back at him in reply.

An hour later, they were busy eating desert (after a main dish that had made Bob’s mouth water before he had even seen it) that George had brought (“Only for a lack of time! I would have made the pudding myself if only-“ “Hush, it’s alright.” A soft, thankful smile over a heaped spoonful of pudding).

Bob gulped down another spoonful of his desert as the thought process that had kept him busy for the past twenty minutes came to an end and only one logical conclusion. He found George’s questioning gaze over their pudding, and looked him dead-on in the eyes as he muttered his conclusion out loud: “If you'd do me the honor of marrying me, I'd probably die.” George dropped his spoon, and a second later the pudding gave a surprised “plonk”.

It took Bob only five seconds to see that George was starting to freak out silently. _Crap._

He should probably have phrased it in a nice-sound way. He tried again: “Like. In all honesty, George. I'd marry you if I could.” George's face was one of confusion and happy disbelief all at once. He didn’t say anything in reply though and just kept looking anywhere but at Bob. Bob himself started fiddling with his fingers ever so slightly, unsure of what to do next. Since George didn’t seem too keen on reacting verbally any time soon, he stood up and went get George a drink. He put one down in front of his friend, and one in front of himself, only having started to take his own confession in himself as he stood in front of his cabinet, pouring their drinks.

After another minute of silence that neither of them spent touching or otherwise interacting with their drinks, Bob finally caught up with his heart. A quiet mutter left his lips as he stared down at his glass and then back up at George. “Oh.”

George finally looked at him then, meeting his gaze again after these minutes of silence. And took Bob’s hand in his and said, with only a quiver of nervousness but a conviction that left no place for doubt: “I’d have you anytime.”

And that was all that needed to be said on that evening. They exchanged barely another word, but Bob agreed with George that they’d both need some time to think about this.

George had a pajama at Bob’s place. Of course he did, Bob knew where he had stashed it the last time George had visited and forgotten it at his place upon leaving.

They laid down on Bob’s fairly wide bed, but Bob soon found himself warm and hugged comfortably from behind as George curled up against him. It felt warm and familiar and Bob thought he could very much get used to George’s lanky, warm frame next to him. They fell asleep almost immediately after a quietly exchanged pair of “goodnights”, and slept better than they had in ages.

The next morning, Bob found himself – to his surprise, as he knew how much of an early riser George usually was – to be the first one awake, the sun already rising outside and sunlight dancing through the curtains. He glanced at his bedside clock and decided that getting up could wait another couple of minutes. Which he spent simply looking a relaxed George gently breathing, while also only then noticing the slightly hardened patch of dried drool on his shirt. After a good night’s sleep and a clearer head than the previous night, the conclusion he’d ended up with sounded truer than most things ever had. _Yes, I’d marry him any day._

Bob carefully placed George’s arm that had been resting on top his own on the bedsheets and slowly got up. He shook his arm to get some feeling back into it while looking at George for another moment, then headed toward the kitchen to prepare some coffee and breakfast. He pondered when they were going to talk about what had happened the previous night, and concluded that it might take them some time. But they’d have more than enough of that- George was prone to stay for a longer period of time when he stopped by, and Bob had nowhere to be for the next couple of weeks. They were going to be alright.

He worried for moment when he heard hesitant footsteps approach the kitchen and saw George appear, looking as awkward as he was tall, in the doorframe.

Then, finally though: “Good morning, Bob.”

And Bob walked up to him, his awkward tall friend (Lover? Friend-lover? Mutual friend-lover thankfully enough) and pulled him into a tight hug. George was babbling something about having made the bed and having opened the windows to let fresh air in, and Bob pulled back to look at him and raise a questioning eyebrow. “You tell me when this isn’t fine with you no more, right?”

And then he very, very slowly approached George’s face, checking every other second if George was still looking alright with this, but other than looking incredibly nervous, he seemed fine.

The kiss he gave him, the first kiss they ended up sharing, was the softest of kisses and Bob couldn’t help but think that it was the only way it could have been between the two of them- just as soft as Bob knew George to be after all these years, and as soft as his own feelings for his friend.

And George was obviously fine with it, too, because he started kissing back just as carefully seconds into the kiss, and Bob couldn’t help but smile at that. And George smiled back into the kiss, relief and happiness and affection all poured into the slight curl of his lips. The remaining uncertainty there had been between them seemed to fall off their shoulders and Bob leaned against George with the tiniest of happy sighs. He wasn’t sure if George heard it, but then George’s cheek was already softly pressing into his curly hair and George’s arm was warm around him, gently keeping him close.

“This is more than fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it! ^_^ Feedback is, as always, very much appreciated! ♥
> 
> (I'll post this on my drabbles blog, [patsdrabbles](www.patsdrabbles.tumblr.com) later today!)
> 
> As for how this fic came to be:  
> I was listening to [this gem](www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JBHyE18L3o) when I saw the YouTube recommendations, along with Bob's song "The Man In Me". I really don't know where the car bit came from (maybe I've seen too many memes for Roger Taylor's "I'm In Love With My Car" lately, but really, I have no idea) but I read it as "The Man In My Car" instead. I wrote [Aldrig](www.archiveofourown.org/users/Aldrig/pseuds/Aldrig) about how George would totally wait for Bob in his car after a show, and the ideas just kept coming after that. <333 (And yep, I listened to Not Dark Yet all the while while writing this, but I can't say I regret it. I like to think that some of the song's calm ended up in the fic's mood, as well <3)


End file.
